And yet, after having rehearsed all the romantic speeches I should make in giving him up forever, he never mentioned love to me at all. On the contrary, he had on that gleaming smile which, from the beginning of our acquaintance, was like the flash of a sword held up between him and me. When he came forward from a corner of the long, dim drawing-room all the embarrassment was on my side.
"I suppose you wonder what brings me," were the words he uttered when shaking hands.
I tried to murmur politely that, whatever it was, I was glad to see him—only the words refused to form themselves.
"Can't we go out?" he asked, as I cast about me for chairs. "It's so stuffy in here."
I led the way through the hall, picking up a rose-colored parasol of Mrs. Rossiter's as we passed the umbrella-stand.
"How much money have you got?" he asked, abruptly, as soon as we were on the terrace.
I made an effort to gather my wits from the far fields into which they had wandered.
"Do you mean in ready cash? Or how much do I own in all?"
"How much in all?"
I told him—just a few thousand dollars, the wreckage of what my father had left. My total income, apart from what I earned, was about four hundred dollars a year.